Dangerous
by TurquaTortle
Summary: "Dangerous," He repeats, rosy lips curling upwards playfully. He folds his hands behind his back, arching an eyebrow as if challenging the person before him. "How can something be dangerous …when you're already dead?"


**ghosf au? ghost au.**

 _ **N EW fAnf iC aLerT (what am i doing with my life, a teenager writing barbie fanfics yIKeS)**_

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 **S'il vous plait, mama**

 **0**

When your parent, guardian or such, kick the bucket to say the least, while you're young, there's only so much you can say, or do. Or even think, as the mind has yet to mature. But as you grow older, you start to wonder; what exactly was death? Was it a permanent answer for a question? Was it simply just a numbing feeling? Or was it just being bloodless? One could wonder.

Those were the main thoughts that had been clouding the seventeen-year-old daughter of Charles Ogier de Batz-Castlemore D'Artagnan for the ten years following his death. As he had passed while she was but a young child, she didn't have too much personal memories of him as he was either away protecting his Majesty most of the time and could only return home on a few occasions. But she had heard many of his wondrous adventures and wished to be as a skillful musketeer as he had been.

And she even had a permission letter. One for permission on access to the Castle, that is. Not for free access to be a musketeer on immediate notice. But she could seek out monsieur Treville and request a meeting in which she could show him her capabilities and prove her worth. The letter allowed her access for one year within recieval. And she had received it from one of the other musketeers at the age of sixteen-and-a-half. Apparently it had been a way for the Captain to, so to speak, 'respect her fathers wishes'.

Alas, her mother had been vying for her to not go, as she had been traumatized by the murder of her husband, she had absolutely so wish for the same fate for her daughter, but the girl was obstinate and continued her acts of 'training' behind the barn with rusted swords, duelling the scarecrow as Marie shook her head, heart sinking.

It was common trait for one with d'Artagnon DNA to be headstrong and hard to change the mind of, and she had a feeling that it would not skip her generation either.

So, as the sun set slowly beyond the celadon green grass, she slowly stalked her way to the barn as the grass tickled her ankles, her steps slowing with dread every passing second. She placed a hand on the chipping, pale wood on the exterior of the barn as she heard triumphant noises alongside rusted swords clashing, knowing fairly well that her daughter had taken it upon herself to turn their old scarecrow mobile so that she could train with a moving dummy.

She let out a sigh and rubbed her temples as she heard the sickening slop of the leftovers for their pig, Bernard, with the sound of metal clashing onto the rock pile in the corner before she heard pants and the sound of footsteps jumping up somewhere and she knew that her daughter would attempt something stupid as she heard the sound of her landing on one foot before something rustled the hay stack.

Marie sighed again and forced a smile on her face, drawing out the envelope with a broken seal as she patters into the barn, remarking on how she could have struck the landing better as her daughters eyes lit up at the sight of the object in her hand.

Corinne pushed herself up and brushed the remains of straw off of her clothing before shrugging with her hands on her hips, a brightt smile on her face decorated with small scratches here and there before replying, "I try." Then she places her fore and middle finger on her lower lip in thought. "Maybe if I try jumping a step earlier I might get that landing. Or maybe I should try a front flip to stabilize my feet?" She shakes herself out of the trance she had put herself in as she smiles sheepishly at her mother.

"I know we talked about this, dear, but," Marie starts, obviously perturbed as she fiddled with the corners of the crisp envelope. "Maybe," she stutters a little and her daughter frowns, brushing some dirt out of her face. "Maybe you could reconsider?" It was more of a plead rather than an offer as a pained expression blossomed on the middle-aged woman's face as she stepped closer to her concerned and confused daughter.

"You know I can't bare it, Corinne." Marie states, placing her hands on the younger girls arms. A look of remembrance, sympathy, and hurt flash in the blue eyes of her daughter and she couldn't bare to look at them because the more she stared, the more things she noticed that her daughter had in common with her passed father, and she feels anxiety bubbling in her stomach as she knows that the young lady had dreams of becoming a musketeer. A job with a dangerous price.

Corinne's expression softens, and she squeezes her mothers arm in assurance. "I know." Confusion and hope sparks in Marie's clover tinted irises and she smiles. "That's why I've been training so much!" She exclaims and the hope vanishes from her mothers face, replaced by dread yet again.

"Don't worry," She says, crouching down to retrieve her rusted sword from the ground as one of the hens cluck, ruffling her feathers slightly. "I'm fit," she motions to her lean, slim build with a satisfied grin. "And I'm careful." She says the last part, almost tripping over one of her makeshift training equipment as she does so, earning a fearful, unhappy expression from her mother.

Marie sighs and returns her arms to her sides from where she was keeping them crossed across her chest. "Fine." She relents as the dread grows stronger. A cheerful smile grows in her daughters face. "But when you're eighteen." And the smile drops. So does the sabre, scaring the hen.

"What?!" Corinne exclaims, as she threw her hands into the air. She motions to the envelope in her mothers hand before taking it and pointing at a certain sentence. "It only permits me up to-" She glances back at the letter and her jaw drops. "Three months from now?!" It comes out as a loud question more than a declaration.

"Mother, can't you see? I have to take this opportunity!" She claims, clutching her mothers shoulders pleadingly. "Treville himself wrote this! Please!"

"Or you could stay here and help me with the farm, and live a long, healthy life?" Marie proposed, a pained smile on her face as her chest constricts and she has to remind herself to breathe. She feels lightweight, as if she hadn't eaten in months as the sickening feeling in her stomach increases.

Corinne frowns, brows pulled together and rosy lips jutting out the slightest as her arms attempt to come up to her hips and put on a strong front, but they hang by her side. It was something that happens whenever she felt frustrated. "But mother-" She protests, pausing for a moment. "I've been dreaming about this my whole life!" She tries to reason, and she's begging too. And Corinne d'Artagnan never begged unless it was an important situation.

She quirks an eyebrow, lips still pursed. "Werent you the one that told me to be courageous and live my dream?"

Marie shakes her head, a sad smile on her face as her shoulders slump. "No, honey..that was your father." She says in a low voice. She has a feeling that she's doing something so wrong and she's scared, so, so scared. Her hands start shaking.

And that feeling doesn't disappear when, two days later, she's watching her daughter perched up on their horse, _Charles'_ horse, ready to leave for Paris with her luggage behind her; weaponary and clothes. And some tattered shoes. She's still shaking, but she feels the slightest proud. Scared, but proud, she decides as she watches her daughter disappear behind the apple orchards on the path to Paris.


End file.
